


Blind Lies

by Hashtagmavin



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Brief mentions of past car accidents and injuries received from it, Hospital AU?, M/M, Mentions of Therapy, Self Confidence Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-08
Updated: 2013-11-21
Packaged: 2017-12-31 20:04:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 19,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1035830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hashtagmavin/pseuds/Hashtagmavin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the accident three years ago that left his face permanently scarred, Gavin never expected to get close to anybody again. But then Michael, the boy who can’t see, comes into his life and he finally begins to feel normal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted at hashtagmavin.tumblr.com
> 
> I still know almost nothing about hospitals and injuries, so sincere apologizes if I get anything major incorrect.

I spend a lot of my time nowadays trying to ignore it.

It reaches a point where I cover up mirrors and any reflective surfaces to avoid seeing my appearance. But every once in a while I’ll accidentally catch a glimpse, and that dark feeling clouds my mind again.

I’m different. But not in a positive way. In a way that when I walk down the street people gasp and advert their eyes. Children ask their parents what’s wrong with the boy walking by them, and babies cry because it’s scary and unknown.

People always claim that they’re different than those around them.

It’s not exactly a bad thing, people want to be unique. They crave for something to set them apart from others and make them special. To have others look at them in admiration and wish they possessed that too.

I just want the opposite.

Long story short, three years ago I was in a car accident.

Just a stupid thing where I was driving to the local store to pick up some bevs for Geoff and I, when a car collided into mine. That’s all I can remember of the circumstances though. I’ve been told that three other cars were involved, but all I can recall is the sound of screaming, metal scraping, and a fire.

The only thing I could feel was pain and heat, especially against my face.

I’m not sure how long I was out, but when I woke up I was in the hospital. Limbs in casts and a bandage wrapped around my head so I could only see from one eye. Geoff and Griffon were murmuring reassurances to me when I started to panic, and kept repeating how relieved they were that I’d woken up.

It’s all just a blur to me now. Even when the doctors told me that the entire upper right hand side of my face would be permanently scarred. I don’t even remember anything that went through my head as I heard those words, or when I looked in the mirror for the first time.

All I know is that now I don’t look like I used to.

The broken limbs, minor bruises, and cuts, have all healed. Everything was normal, life continued on and I was released from the hospital. The only lasting effect was the large, thick, and red burn scar that took up half of my forehead, covered my right eye, and the top half of my cheek.

The entire upper right hang side of my face is forever physically scarred.

The left side completely untouched and normal.

But the right is what makes people look away and apologize for staring. It’s the reason for my going to therapy, and refusal to look in mirrors. I hate this face, and it destroyed and crushed any positive thoughts I could ever have had about myself.

It’s weird how much something like that can mess with your perception of life. I spent a lot of time wallowing around in self pity. It was like life just decided that I needed to be punished and miserable.

Geoff and Griffon, my two best friends who’s house I live in, tried their hardest to help. Just by treating me the same way as before, with dumb jokes and pranks. I have no idea where I would be now if it wasn’t for them.

They were the ones that set me up for weekly appointments with a therapist. I thought it was absolutely ridiculous and unnecessary.

What was talking about it going to solve? At the end of the day I am still going to look like  _this_.

But I go to them anyways. It makes Geoff and Griffon happy, they think that maybe the appointments could help, but all they really did was make me feel more different.

My therapist is a nice woman though. She never forces me to talk about things I don’t want to, even though it usually leads to the entire session being filled with silence. I’ve never enjoyed it. Usually it consists of Mrs. Greene, my therapist, calmly asking me numerous questions about how I’m feeling, and what’s bothering me. Questions that never go answered because I’m just too bitter and annoyed at the prospect of even being here.

Don’t get me wrong, I do feel bad for hating therapy so much. I hate taking such a positive thing and thinking of it so negatively.

I know therapy is really good for some people. Talking about your problems, or even just being in the presence of somebody that’s willing to listen can be comforting. But it’s just not for  _me_. I don’t like openly speaking about my thoughts and feelings.

Some days I would skip out on it as much as possible and aimlessly wander the hospital hallways in hope that I won’t get caught. Sometimes it works although Geoff scolds me for it when he comes to pick me up, they always call him when I don’t show up.

Just the sounds of the hospital and people bustling around could be comforting sometimes. Everybody is always too busy to care or stare at my face as they walk by. Or maybe they’re just used to seeing disfigured people. It’s nice to not be treated like an outcast so much.

Every once in a while I’ll see Mrs. Greene talking to a doctor or someone at the end of the hall I’m walking down, and I quickly have to jump into the closest room to avoid her seeing me. It usually ends with me spending twenty minutes hiding in a broom closet or bathroom. Mrs. Greene is a nice woman, and I feel bad for avoiding her like this.

But on this particular day when I saw her in the hallways, there was no nearby public room to hide in. I just stood there like a deer in headlights for a few moments until I frantically looked around for a place to hide.

I’m such a ridiculous baby about this stuff.

Without giving it a second thought, I dart into the closest room and shut the door behind me while leaning against it. I bury my face in my hands and breath deeply, annoyed at myself for acting like a nervous high school student that’s skipping class for the first time.

Hopefully she didn’t see me, but I’m sure I would have heard the click-clack of her high heels as she walks towards this room. I’m thankful for her taste in shoes because sometimes it’s the only warning that she’s close by.

I sigh in relief once I realize that if she’d have seen me, she’d have found me by now.

It’s not like I’m scared of being caught, I know the most she’ll do is just frown at me and then we’d talk about my refusal to come to my sessions once we go back to her office. I just don’t want to see the look of pity or guilt on her face because she thinks she isn’t helping me enough.

She really is a good therapist. I’m just a stubborn asshole.

"… _Hello_?” A voice snaps me out of my thoughts.

I turn around quickly, almost jumping in the air. Maybe I’m a bit too paranoid now.

A boy is sitting in the bed, and I feel guilty for intruding on him without so much as a word. I was honestly just looking for a place to hide, and didn’t even consider the fact that somebody could be awake in here.

He has curly red hair and freckles, but that’s really the only thing about his appearance that I can make out. He isn’t even wearing his own clothes, just a hospital gown. Must be a new arrival or in constant need of medical attention.

My own eyes widen once I see him because the most noticable thing is the bandage that is wrapped around his head. Not enough to cover his messy hair, but just enough to cover the tops of his cheeks, the bottom half of his forehead, and his eyes.

The bandage is clean and white other than the section that is covering his eye sockets. It’s stained a brownish-red, as though he’d been crying blood earlier and it’s dried now.

"Who the fuck is there?" his voice sounds angrier now, and it isn’t all that surprising since I haven’t spoken a word yet.

I’m momentarily confused for a moment but then I want to smack myself on the forehead. This guy can’t see, he has bandages covering his eyes. He’s obviously going to get frustrated when there is a stranger barging into his room and not giving any indication of who he is.

"S-sorry," I stutter out, finally finding my voice. I go to open the door again, "I’ll go."

I don’t want to cause a scene or annoy this guy anymore. It’s no mystery that he’s having a hard enough time as it is. As though anybody in the hospital is ever having a good time.

"Wait," the boy says, his voice a little gentler now, "Who are you?"

I’m not sure if I should answer or just leave. What if this guy calls the nurse and gets me in trouble? I’ve never hidden out in patients rooms to avoid going to therapy sessions, and I’m not sure what the repercussions would be for doing it.

"Uh, my name’s Gavin," I finally settle with, hoping that I can leave now with the least amount of hassle possible.

"Fuck, did they send me to Britain while I was out or something?" the guy smirks. He doesn’t seem angry or annoyed, more amused than anything, and that fact alone makes Gavin’s shoulder sag in relief. "Sorry for, uh, getting mad at you, dude. I’m Michael."

His voice goes reluctant and guilty when he apologizes, and it makes me smile a little. I’m not so eager to leave anymore, when I see him smile like that.

"Sorry that I barged into your room without any warning or invitation," my voice is still kind of quiet and hesitant, "I’ll just go now."

"No!" he cries out, his voice turning hesitant when he realizes how loud he is, "No, you can totally stay if you want. It probably sounds kind of pathetic but I’m pretty desperate for human contact that doesn’t include either my parents or the hospital staff."

It’s not difficult to sympathize with him. During my own stay at the hospital, my companionship consisted of just the doctors, Geoff, and Griffon.

But I still feel guilty for intruding on him for no reason other than the fact that I’m a selfish prick that doesn’t like going to therapy.

"Are… Are you sure?"

He scoffs and then mocks my words with a terrible high pitched British accent. My lips quirk at the sound of it as he frowns in annoyance. “Yes, of course I’m sure. Come sit down or something.”

Michael holds in hands out in a grabby fashion, as though hoping to grab onto me so that I can’t get away.

Michael’s pretty cute. Normally when distinguishing the physical attractiveness of a person, eyes play a major factor. It’s almost like when they use that black bar to hide a persons identity in television, but you’re still able to make out if they’re ugly or not.

I note the tattoo’s on his arms, which are all references to video games. I decide that I’m in good company at that point. I’m no stranger to either of those things. Geoff and Griffon’s arms are both littered with beautiful and interesting tattoo’s and we all spend a great deal of time playing games together.

His voice pulls me from my thoughts, “I mean, unless you don’t want to. I don’t want to force you to stay here or anything.”

"Nah, don’t worry about it. I actually ran in here because I was hiding."

"From who?"

That’s when I remember.

I’ve spent my time in here talking to Michael as though I’m just some normal guy. He doesn’t know any better because he can’t actually see my face. He doesn’t know how disgusting I look and won’t send me away because of it.

I feel guilty, but at the same time relieved.

Ever since the accident, I haven’t made any new friends. Griffon and Geoff are pretty much the only two that I have now. It’s refreshing to meet somebody that’s not afraid of me or recoils in shock at my face.

He’s talking to me as though I’m a  _normal person_.

And it feels amazing.

But it’s going to end soon. I have to tell him the truth. I can’t just lie and pretend to be normal when I’m so obviously not.

"I…" I have to work up the courage to say it, "I’m supposed to be in therapy right now."

"Oh really? Shit man, you should probably go to that if you need to." his voice is filled with guilt, and it matches my own feelings at the moment.

I should listen to him. I should leave this room, never come back, and never see Michael again. I can’t take advantage of his lack of eyesight just to make a new friend. No matter how badly I want to. It just isn’t fair to him.

But when has life ever been fair to  _me_!? I’ve never done anything to deserve what’s happened to me. I don’t deserve all that’s been thrown my way. I just want somebody to think of me as a normal person that looks like everybody else.

Now that I’ve been given that, should I really be throwing it away?

I like this guy. He’s nice… and cute. As long as he can’t see, he can’t know that I’m a deformed freak.

"No, no it’s fine. I actually hate it, and was hiding to avoid it," I murmur, still fighting my conscious.

"Are you sure? I mean, I wouldn’t want you to get in trouble or anything."

"It’s fine. To be honest I’d rather be anywhere but there," I say, letting my eyes wander around his room.

His window sill is filled with “Get Well Soon” cards, balloons, and little toys. It’s pretty charming that he has people that cares about him enough, but it’s not like he’s actually able to see the gifts.

"You’re not, like… mentally… in trouble? Are you?" he stumbles over the words hesitantly, trying his hardest not to word it in a way that would offend me.

"No, no," I reassure him, waving my hand as though he’s able to see that, "I’m okay. It’s just these dumb appointments Geoff and Griffon have set up for me."

"Who are Geoff and Griffon?"

His curiosity is amusing. It’s obvious that he’s willing to listen to any stories just . Who knows how long he’s just been sitting in this room alone, unable to see and dying of boredom.

"Are you really that bored?" I question, a small smirk on my face.

He shrugs, “Yeah, but I’m also genuinely interested. They your siblings, or…?”

"Nah, I’m not related to them. They’re my friends and I’ve been living in their house for the past few years."

"Cool," he says, nodding his head a little, "Are you sitting down?"

"No, there aren’t any chairs in here."

"Oh, fuck," he mutters, "I only just moved to this room a little while ago. They finished the surgery on my eyes and shit, but I guess they haven’t gotten around to putting chairs in here for when I get visitors. You can sit on the bed if you want, I don’t mind."

That piques my interest, “You had surgery?”

I wince when I say it. That could easily offend him or make him upset. I know that when I was in the hospital, hearing anything about my accident caused me to throw a tantrum like a three year old.

I spent a lot of my time blocking out everything and refusing to look on the bright side of things. I suppose I’m still like that now.

But I have to push all of that stuff away. Right now I’m not the boy who’s face is ruined due to one stupid mistake. I’m a normal guy making a new friend.

"Yup," he grins, "Don’t tell me you didn’t even notice that my eyes are all bandaged up. You can’t be  _that_ stupid.”

The image of him smiling makes my head feel tingly, and I chuckle as I respond to him. “Of course I noticed, I just didn’t want to be rude and ask about it.”

"Don’t worry about being rude. I’ve got a pretty bad temper myself, so chances are I’m way ruder than you."

"Yeah, I noticed when I walked in and you almost murdered me just with your voice."

He laughs out loud at that, “Sorry, I’ve just been kind of on edge ever since I lost my sight.”

I sit down on the corner of his bed, deciding to push my luck a little further and continue to ask questions. “What happened?”

"I was in a car accident. Glass damaged my eyes, but they say it  _might_ be fixable if I’m lucky.”

"Was anybody else injured?"

"Nope. No other damage was done to anyone other than my vision. But because of it, I’m going to be here for a long time.

"How long?"

"No idea. They’re constantly doing tests on my eyes and junk so if I did go home, I’d have to be constantly coming back. I don’t want to hassle my parents or friends by making them drive me back and forth from my apartment to the hospital all the time. And I don’t think I could handle staying in my apartment on my own without my vision. Staying in the hospital seems to be the best solution even though it leaves me bored all of the time."

Seems reasonable. Staying in your home all by yourself while blind doesn’t seem like that big of a deal when you first think about it. But it would probably end up being even more boring than the hospital. He wouldn’t have the doctors or nurses to talk to when his friends/family aren’t over.

It’s crazy how much we take eyesight for granted when it comes to entertainment. I can’t imagine how bored I would be if I wasn’t able to play video games or watch TV.

"How long ago did the accident happen?"

"Man, and I thought  _I_ asked a lot of questions,” he chuckles.

"Sorry, I-" I begin to apologize but he cuts me off immediately.

"I’m just kidding, dude. You actually have no idea how nice it is to have an actual conversation with somebody. My parents spend all their time asking if I’m okay, and I feel guilty asking my friend Ray to come because I know he really just wants to play the new Grand Theft Auto."

"He’d rather play video games than come see you?" I raise an eyebrow.

"Oh, no," he shakes his head, "He’s concerned about me too, but I just don’t want him to worry. Hopefully I’ll be out of here before he gets all of the achievements in it. But knowing Ray, probably not."

"He plays video games a lot?"

"Yeah, we both do."

"Oh, cool! Geoff and I have been playing GTA too, it’s been a load of fun."

"Figures I’d lose my eyesight just before it comes out," he mutters, "I’m dying to play it myself."

"How long are you going to be blind?" I question. I feel incredibly selfish for hoping that it will be a long time. But I just love the feeling of actually conversing with a stranger.

My deformity is no longer the elephant in the room. And it’s amazing. It’s so easy to get lost in the forming friendship. It’s so unfamiliar to me at this point, and I’ve forgotten how nice it is.

I’d never really been big on talking to strangers back before the accident. But you end up longing for it once you don’t have the option anymore. I’d rather not talk to anybody if they spend the entire conversation trying to avoid the topic of my face or dancing around the subject.

Sometimes it feels like I still haven’t completely come to terms with it, and things like that can be difficult at times.

"Not sure. It stopped hurting a long time ago, but maybe that’s just because of the medication they’ve been giving me."

"Looks like it hurts." I murmur, studying the bandages wrapped around his head to cover his eyes.

"Are they bloody? I haven’t had them changed in a while, and I’ve also been trying to open my eyes a little."

"You probably shouldn’t do that."

"That’s what the nurses said too, but hell if I’m going to listen to them." he smirks, and it almost makes me want to melt on the spot, "It’s hard to keep your eyes closed constantly."

I wish everybody could keep their eyes closed constantly. It would certainly make my life a lot easier.

This guy is pretty stubborn. Maybe that’s what’s so cute about him. I’ve only been talking to him for a few minutes but I can already tell that he’s right about the whole short temper thing.

As we continue to talk he’s constantly calling me an idiot for making dumb jokes and noises. I don’t even know how much time has passed because I’m too engrossed in our conversations. We just talk about anything and everything, not even caring if we sound like idiots.

He even casually flirts every so often, just throwing out things about how much he likes my accent and stuff. It’s just little things, but every time he does I turn an impossible shade of red. I’ll attempt to nonchalantly say something positive about him too, like how I like his hair, or freckles. He reacts the same way as I do, but the only difference is that I’m actually able to see his reaction. And it’s utterly adorable.

I fall into the habit of pretending that everything is okay. Forgetting about the outside world and just focusing on Michael being here and making me feel normal for once. He’s the only person other than Geoff and Griffon to be able to do that.

He’s a nice guy. But I know if he could see, he wouldn’t have looked twice at me other than to stare in disgust. It’s like in those movies where the dorky nerdy person has a crush on the cute popular person, but instead of being dorky and nerdy I’m a horrible disfigured freak.

Okay, yeah.

Maybe after talking with Michael for a few hours I have a  _tiny little_  crush on him.

But can you really blame me!? It’s been so long since I’ve been able to even talk to cute boy without being brushed off immediately or stared at with pity filled eyes due to my appearance. Michael treats me like I’m normal because he thinks I  _am_  normal.

How am I not supposed to immediately fall head over heels for somebody like that?

It doesn’t take long for the happiness to end though, because my phone begins ringing. The loud obnoxious cawing noise I recording a long time ago, just to piss off Geoff, is still my ringtone. It causes Michael to jump a little at the unfamiliar sound.

"What the fuck is that?"

"My ringtone, sorry," I snicker at his hesitation to trust it, "Geoff hates it."

"How could anybody  _like_ it?”

I grin, and answer the phone, “Hello?”

"Hey, Gav," Geoff says, his voice sounding too innocent, "Where are you right now?"

"Uh, at the hospital?"

"Oh really? Because your therapist called and said you didn’t go to your appointment today." the happy facade drops and he turns angry, "That was three hours ago! Where the fuck are you? Griffon and I were worried sick."

Bollocks. Maybe I really have been here for too long.

"Sorry, I’ll explain at home. Can you come get me? I really am at the hospital." I try to keep my voice sad and guilty so that maybe he won’t start yelling at me for being a prick.

It seems to work because he sighs in annoyance, “Fine. I’m leaving now. You better be fucking at the door when I get there.”

He hangs up immediately and doesn’t give me any room to say thanks. I do feel slightly bad for making him worry, but being here was worth it.

"Was that Geoff?" Michael asks.

"Yeah, he’s coming to get me."

"Oh," his shoulders sag in disappointment, "That sucks."

"If… If you want…" What am I doing. Why am I saying this. "I can come again tomorrow… or something?"

What is wrong with me. This is a terrible idea. Not only is it bad because I’m deceiving this nice guy into thinking I’m normal, but I’m allowing myself to fall further into this lie myself.

"Yeah!" Michael immediately brightens up, "Yeah, I’d like that a lot! You should, uh… You should come back tomorrow."

He sounds so embarrassed for being excited, but I don’t blame him. I’m already looking forward to it myself.

Maybe we’re more alike than I thought.

I’m the boy with the broken face.

He’s the boy with the broken eyes.

The only difference is that he’s not lying about it.

I feel guilty all over again.

"Bye, Michael," I say with forced cheerfulness as I leave. He grins and I imagine he’d be rolling his eyes right now if he could.

"Get outta’ here, moron."


	2. Chapter 2

When Geoff's car pulls up to the front of the hospital, I want to run the opposite direction so that I don't have to face him. But I know that probably won't end well in my favor.

 

"Hey, Geoffrey..." I smile nervously, climbing into the front seat of the car.

 

"Don't ' _Hey Geoffrey_ ' me, you asshole," he mocks my accent, his voice dripping with anger.

 

I sigh, "Okay, fine. I'm sorry."

 

He scoffs and we begin driving away from the hospital, but it's clear from his grip on the steering wheel that he's still annoyed with me. "What the hell were you doing at the hospital? Ya'know,  _other_  than not going to your appointment again?

 

I hesitate on telling him the truth. Geoff's my best friend, and I know I can trust him. Maybe he can give me some helpful advice or something. Hearing about how stupid I am for letting this happen might be just what I need.

 

"I met someone," I state softly, looking straight ahead.

 

It's silent for a few moments, and I know most of Geoff's anger has cooled down. "Who?"

 

"A boy. His name is Michael." I nod along as I speak, trying to seem nonchalant, "He's really nice."

 

Geoff seems hesitant to speak because he doesn't want to say the wrong thing by accident. "How did you meet him?"

 

"I didn't want to go to therapy and hid in his room for a few hours instead. He let me stay because he wanted some company."

 

"He's a patient?"

 

"Yeah." I know I'm dancing around the subject, but I'm not sure how much I want Geoff to know.

 

"And you  _like_ him?"

 

Damn, he knows me too well.

 

"Uh..." I sigh, "Maybe a little bit."

 

"He likes _you_?"

 

"Maybe? I mean, we've only known each other for a few hours, but we got along pretty well. Chatting, flirting, and what not..." I murmur the last part, but he still manages to catch it and chuckles to himself.

 

"He was flirting with  _you_? This guy's got some pretty low standards," he jokes.

 

I snicker at that. Geoff is the only person brave enough to make jokes about the scar like that. Everybody else is too polite or embarrassed to even mention it at all. Griffon would, but she's too sweet to make jokes.

 

It had always been Geoff's thing. He loves to pick fun at everything about me, and I love to do the same to him. For some reason, his comments about my physical appearance never hurt me in anyway, and I know it's because he's just joking around. Even if he's right.

 

"It was nice," I comment, "actually meeting somebody new,"

 

"What? Griffon and I aren't good enough for you?" he continues to joke, and I just roll my eyes.

 

"You know I could never ditch you two."

 

"As if we would ever let you," he smirks, "So this guy really cheered you up that much?"

 

I didn't even realize how much happier I am after speaking with Michael. It was like he made me feel slightly better. Even when I'm away from him and back into the world where I'm shunned by everyone around me, I still feel invincible to it all.

 

"Yeah," I nod slightly, "I guess so."

 

We reach the house within a few more minutes, and I'm still wondering if I should tell Geoff the rest. I already feel guilty enough for lying to Michael, if I lie to Geoff too I might actually go crazy.

 

As we pull into the driveway, I just say it.

 

"He can't see."

 

Geoff slams the breaks, and I have to reach out and hold the dashboard in order to stop myself from being forced forward too harshly.

 

I wince and take a peak at him out of the corner of my eye. He turns to me with disbelief, "He can't  _see_!?"

 

"...No."

 

"Gavin..." he almost whines, "Gavin, are you fucking  _serious_?"

 

"I... um..." I try to think of something to say, but my brain practically melts at the thought of it.

 

"Please tell me you're joking. You can't be  _this_ stupid."

 

"I'm not stupid, okay?" I argue, but give up once I realize he's right. I really am stupid. "It was just nice to meet somebody that didn't know about... the scar."

 

Geoff sighs with more pity than annoyance, "I don't know why you do this shit to yourself, Gav."

 

"Do what?"

 

"You keep thinking that you're worthless because of those stupid scars," he mutters, "You're still just as worthless as you were before the accident."

 

I can't help but smile at that. Sometimes Geoff is like a father to me. He can be so overprotective and concerned about my well being, but then other times he's just my asshole friend that loves to make fun and playfully abuse me.

 

"Shut up, Geoff. It's different now." I mutter, "I know it's incredibly selfish of me, but I kind of like Michael. And I want to be his friend if nothing else, so can I please go hang out with him instead of going to therapy?"

 

He's quiet for a while, his grip loosening and tightening on the steering wheel a few times as he thinks it over. "This is a bad idea, dude..." he whines, sounding like a little kid that was just denied candy.

 

"I know it is. But can't I make my own mistakes?"

 

Geoff groans.

 

"The way I see it, as long as he can't see I'm in perfect position." I try to explain, "He gets company while at the hospital, I get to make a friend that can't judge me based on my looks, and you don't lose money on getting me therapist appointments that I don't even want to go to."

 

"Does the therapy really not work at all? Like, you don't feel any better after them? Not even a little bit?"

 

I shrug, "It's just not for me."

 

Silence fills the car as he continues to ponder it. Possibly weighing the negatives and positives. I know I've made some good points, but Geoff's always been more reasonable than me.

 

"Why can't you be happy in a less complicated way?" when I don't respond he sighs, "Fine. But if and  _when_ this blows up in your face, you are taking full responsibility. You can have your little fun with your boyfriend now, but don't come crying to me when shit goes down."

 

"Okay," I smile, already buzzing with excitement at the prospect of seeing Michael again. "But he's not my boyfriend."

 

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. Whatever, dude."

 

*****

 

When I come back to see Michael a few days later I was pretty nervous about it, but, he's immediately grateful for my company once he realizes it's me.

 

"Thank God, dude," he says, "As lame as it sounds, I'm pretty happy that you came back. I've been so fucking bored here. A bunch of my aunts and uncles came in earlier and they spent the entire time just asking me numerous questions about how my eyes were and if I was in any pain. It was pretty annoying."

 

"That sucks," I comment, "But you know they were probably just worried about you."

 

"Yeah, but that doesn't mean their entire visit has to center around my stupid eyes."

 

"Well that is the reason that you're in the hospital," I point out lightly, and he snorts amusedly.

 

"I guess, but it's get tiring after a while. So help me take my mind off of it."

 

"How?"

 

"Talk to me. Let's have a chat."

 

I'm slightly taken back by the request. He really doesn't take any of that awkward 'we don't really know each other' bullshit. He completely stomps on it by outright refusing to put up with it and acting as though we've been friends for years.

 

"Uh, about what?"

 

"Literally anything. Seriously, I don't care. I just need some conversation that doesn't revolve around my eye injuries."

 

I rack my brain for possible topics, which isn't very hard for me. My brain is pretty creative at times, and it seems like I'm able to pull nonsense out of absolute nothing.

 

"Do you think animals know what kind of animal they are?"

 

"What!?" he exclaims, "I tell you to talk about something and  _that's_ what you come up with!?"

 

"It's something that's always confused me," I smile, realizing how ridiculous it sounds, but knowing that I'm succeeding in taking his mind off of his bad mood.

 

"What the hell is wrong with you!? What does that even mean!?"

 

"Like, an animal in Africa wandering about, does it see a bird and think ' _Do I look like that_?'"

 

"Why does the animal have to be from Africa?"

 

"Well, it's just a bunch of animals hanging out with one another, right?"

 

He chuckles, "I guess?"

 

"Like, does a dog see another dog that is of another breed and think, 'I'm like that but not  _really_?'."

 

"You are a whole new level of stupid."

 

"It's a legitimate question!" I laugh, reveling in how annoyed I'm making him.

 

He eventually joins in and laughs with me, my question never receives an answer because we go on to talk about a Reddit thread he saw about animals before his accident.

 

It's so easy to fall into conversation with him. No awkward pauses or quiet moments, just actual chatting followed by laughter and dumb jokes. It's like we've been friends for years, and I've never clicked with somebody so easily before.

 

I can relate to him. While he's annoyed that every conversation revolves around his eyes, every conversation I have with people revolves around my face. It's nice to take a giant leap back from both of those usual topics and just allow ourselves to get comfortable with one another with mindless talk about anything we with can think of.

 

Days pass by easily, Michael and I grow closer, and my usual self-hatred gets buried deeper and deeper as it continues.

 

*

 

"You seem to be in a happy mood," Griffon points out while we're eating breakfast.

 

Geoff scoffs and shoots me a look before muttering a sarcastic, "Yeah, I wonder why."

 

"Shut up."

 

Griffon raises an eyebrow suspiciously, "Are you two hiding something from me?"

 

I try to avoid her gaze by looking down at my plate, but it's like she's burning holes into my head. Geoff snickers, "Gavin has a little boyfriend."

 

"I do not!"

 

"A boyfriend?" she questions, "What's his name?"

 

"Michael, and he's  _not_ my boyfriend," I glare at Geoff and he childishly sticks out his tongue at me.

 

"How'd you meet him?"

 

Geoff laughs out loud, before dramatically resting his head in his hand as though he's so interested, "Yes, Gavin. Tell us about how you met him."

 

"Sod off. I met him at the hospital."

 

"Yes. Gavin met his boyfriend at the hospital. He happens to be a patient there."

 

Griffon looks between the two of us, her curiosity and suspicion rises as Geoff makes it worse. She's always been the most responsible out of the three of us, and if Geoff thinks that being friends with Michael is a bad idea, then I can only imagine what she'll think.

 

"A patient? Is he okay?"

 

"Ye-"

 

"Yes!" Geoff cuts me off with mock enthusiasm. I've never seen him so upbeat and cheery in the morning, but of course he would never be tired enough to pass up an opportunity to throw me under the bus. "He's blind."

 

"Blind?" Griffon's face immediately switches to confusion.

 

"I hate you, Geoff," I roll my eyes, letting my fork drop onto my plate before crossing my arms and leaning back against the chair. Sometimes it's like I'm their rebellious teenage son or something and they're my parents.

 

"But here's my favorite part, Griff," Geoff grins at her, "Gavin hasn't told Michael about his  _predicament_."

 

"Gavin." she states, her face going serious with disappointment as she turns her head to look at me, "Seriously? You're going to lie to this guy just because you want to get in his pants?"

 

Geoff throws his head back in laughter, almost falling out of his chair in the process.

 

"I don't want to get in his pants! For the last time, we're just friends... I think." I get quieter once I realize how unsure I am, "I don't really know. I've only been hanging out with him for a few days now."

 

"When did you meet him?"

 

"Last week."

 

"Is this why you've stopped going to therapy? Because you'd rather spend your time flirting with this guy?"

 

"No! We've already talked about that. Michael has nothing to do with it."

 

Geoff snaps out of his laughing fit when he hears that, but he's still grinning at me when he yells, "Oh bullshit! As soon as you started swooning for this Michael kid-"

 

I groan, not even wanting him to finish his sentence.

 

"Gavin, you know this is a terrible idea," Griffon goes into parent-mode, "You can't lie to this guy just because you like him."

 

"I'm not exactly lying..." I murmur, the guilt creeping back into me, "Just avoiding the truth."

 

She sighs and shakes her head before standing up, preparing to take her dishes out to the kitchen, "We're not going to force you to stop seeing him if he makes you this happy. But just know that this entire thing isn't going to end well if you keep lying to him like that. I hope you know what you're doing."

 

I groan again and let my head drop to the table painfully.

 

I hope so too.


	3. Chapter 3

"Are we friends?" he murmurs, too shy to speak at a volume any higher.

My eyebrows raise at that question, and I’m too baffled to answer for a moment.

It’s been about three weeks since I’ve met him. I’d get Geoff to drop me off a few days a week, just to sit in Michael’s hospital room with him and talk about anything that we could think about.

Some days we would talk about video games, movies, television, etc. Or some days we would talk about our lives and childhood. We’d make jokes and he’d call me a moron for my made up words or phrases

He’d curse a lot, muttering swears under his breath or outright screaming them if something annoying happened. I would often make up dumb words and try to pass them off as British slang, or come up with ridiculous hypothetical questions. He’d yell at me and call me a fucking idiot for it, but I’d just laugh at his annoyance, finding it more amusing than threatening.

There was no avoiding of topics or tiptoeing around subjects in case they might offend me or tie back to my face.

We fell into this friendship so quickly that I didn’t even notice it until the rug was pulled out from under me, and Michael straight forwardly asked.

I tried not to come too often because I didn’t want to risk the chance of him having visitors. When I told him of this, he luckily just chalked it up to me being shy and even went through the trouble of asking his parents and friends if they could not come visit during certain times so that I could be with him alone.

Somebody going through that much trouble for me is almost incomprehensible at this point. I told him that he didn’t have to do it, but he seemed very adamant on making sure I was comfortable.

I definitely appreciated it though. Even if it wasn’t for the fact that I didn’t want anybody to see my face in fear that they would tell Michael, I still wasn’t one hundred percent content with meeting new people.

To watch their eyes widen as they notice the scars that ruin my face, the quick shift they do to my eyes to try and pretend that they weren’t staring, and the forced smiles on their faces as they act as though I look completely normal.

I wouldn’t be able to stand having that moment with one of Michael’s relatives or friends. I know that after I leave they would immediantly turn to him and ask something along the lines of “What is wrong with that guy’s face!?”

That’s certainly something that I want to avoid.

"Gavin?" Michael’s voice pulls me from my thoughts, and I look up at him.

"Yeah?"

"I asked if we were friends," he says it just as quietly as before, but now he’s biting his lip nervous, anxious as to what my answer will be.

"I… I don’t know."

"Well, I’d like to think that we are," he smiles softly, "I mean, you’ve been coming here almost everyday to see me for about two weeks, and I talk more with you than anybody else that comes to visit me."

I hadn’t considered Michael  _actually_ wanting to be friends with me. I figured he just wanted somebody to keep him company, and some random guy with a British accent fit the bill.

By saying yes I’m allowing myself to sink further and further into this hole. I feel like I’m lying all over again, and Michael is the victim of it all.

"Okay," I answer, not bothering to feel ashamed at the blush that rises to my cheeks, "We’re friends."

"Perfect," he beams, "Now we’re not gonna half-ass this! We are  _legitimate_ friends now.”

I chuckle at his dramatics, but it seems to fit us. We hardly take anything seriously.

"As if that’s even a big deal, I bet you’ve got millions of friends, Michael."

He purses his lips and I’m sure if he could he’d be rolling his eyes right now, “I have a few but that doesn’t mean getting a new one isn’t a big deal.”

"Your other friends are  _way_ more important than me.”

"That’s not true at all! You’re special, Gavin. You’re my boy!" he cries, and I laugh out loud.

Being with Michael releases this strange kind of newfound joy within me. He doesn’t see my broken outside, and instead brings out the inside that I’ve kept hidden away for so long. It’s like I’m finally able to be myself around somebody other than my housemates.

"You’re my boy too, Michael," I grin.

Although I’m sure it’s nothing to him, it means everything to me. He’s outright calling me  _his_. I’m  _his_ boy, and he’s  _mine_. I’ve never been somebody’s before, not even in a platonic way.

I’m getting way too ahead of myself here, other than playful flirty words, Michael has shown no signs of actually liking me like that. But a guy can dream, right?

"Do you have lots of friends?" he asks, and just like that I’m pulled from my happiness, "You never talk much about your life."

Every time we talk about our lives and stuff, I always try to keep it on him. I could listen to him ramble for hours about his friends, family, apartment, childhood, etc. But whenever the subject is turned my way, I brush it off as casually as possible and turn it around so that he’s the one talking again. He’s never really noticed, or at least I thought.

"Uh, other than you, I have two close friends," I try to speak quietly so that he won’t hear, but he seems to catch it anyways.

"Oh yeah?" he sounds interested, "What are their names?"

"Geoff and Griffon."

"Oh yeah, you’ve told me about them before! You live with them, right?"

"Uh-huh," I nod, allowing myself to fall into the conversation. Michael isn’t prying or getting annoyed at my lack of responses. That’s the best thing about him, it’s like he knows exactly what I’m comfortable with answering.

"What are they like?"

"Um, they’re awesome," I shrug, not really sure how to put it into words, "They’re my best friends and sometimes it feels like I’m so close to them that we’re actually family."

"Sounds nice." he muses, "I want to meet them one day."

"No," I state, completely horrified at the thought of Michael actually meeting and talking to Geoff. Griffon would be totally fine, but I know all Geoff would do is make dumb jokes and purposely embarrass me, "Trust me, you don’t want that."

Michael chuckles, “If you asked to meet one of my friends I’d probably react the same way. They’re all total assholes and I have no idea why I like them so much.”

"Am I an asshole?" I smirk, already knowing his answer.

"You’re the biggest asshole ever."

"Cheers, Michael."

"Having two friends is probably a lot easier though. I mean, I have lots of friends, but there are only a select few that I’m actually really close with. Like Ray, Ryan, Jack, Barbara, and Lindsay."

I perk up once he mentions girls names, “Oh… You’re, uh, friends with girls?”

"Yeah? Why?"

"Nothing… Just… I don’t know…" I have no intention on explaining the jealousy that rings through my head. The idea of Michael having a girlfriend leaves a bad feeling that swirls around in the pits of my stomach.

Michael smirks, “What’s the big deal? You didn’t expect me to have friends that are girls? Griffon is a girl, isn’t she?”

I roll my eyes, “Well yeah, but she’s married to Geoff. Completely different.”

"Then what’s the deal here? You don’t like the thought of me having  _single_ friends that are girls?”

The grin on his face tells me that he knows exactly what subject he’s dancing around. I want to groan, bury my face in my hands, and die of embarrassment. Figures Michael would find deeper meaning in that.

"Shut up, just forget I said anything."

"Nope!" he snickers, "In case you were wondering, I do  _not_  have a girlfriend. I’m not actually dating anybody at the moment.”

"Ah," I murmur, trying to keep both the embarrassment and relief out of my voice. But Michael’s explained to me before that he’s better at listening now since he can’t see, so chances are he’s noticed it anyways.

"What about you then, Gavvy? Any hot chicks?"

I laugh in spite of myself, “No.”

"Hot guys?"

"Nope."

"What!?" he exclaims, completely shocked, "How are  _you_ single!?”

"What do you mean?"

At this point we’re both chuckling and giggling like two school girls, and I don’t even let the sore subject of dating or relationships bring me down like it usually does.

"Dude, do you not hear your accent? It’s hot as shit. I bet as soon as you say one word to a chick, her panties drop just like that," he snaps his fingers as reference.

I ignore his compliment but I’m thankful that he can’t see me right now because my face is impossibly red. “Why are you going on so much about how unbelievable it is for me to be single? You happen to be incredibly attractive.”

"Oh really?" he grins, "You can’t even see my eyes. Usually eyes are the determining factor when it comes to attractiveness."

I chuckle, not even realizing how confident and carefree I’m acting throughout this entire conversation, “Well even if your eyes  _are_ ugly, the rest of your face makes up for it.”

He laughs out loud, his cheeks still red, “Well if  _you’re_ ugly, you’re British accent makes up for it.”

I smile, actually feeling nothing but happiness coursing through my veins as I watch Michael giggle hysterically.

"Here’s hoping."


	4. Chapter 4

We’ve reached a point in our friendship where Michael immediately asks if it’s me when I walk in through the door.

"Gavin?" he questions.

"Yeah, how’d you know?"

"I didn’t." he shrugs, a smirk on his face, "I just ask that to anyone who enters in hope that I might be right."

"You that desperate to talk to me?" I joke, sitting on the bed in my usual spot in front of him.

"Well, kind of, but also because I have something important to ask you."

My heart leaps up in my throat and my stomach drops, “W-What?”

There’s a few moments of silence until he finally asks, “Are there any candy machines close to my room?”

My shoulders sag and I let out a breathy laugh of amusement towards the fact that such a simple question caused me to actually hold my breath. He always jumps right into some kind of ridiculous conversation as soon as I enter, so it’s not like this is anything out of the ordinary.

"Uh, I think there’s one out in the waiting room, which is just down the hall from here."

"Perfect!" he beams, "Okay, I have a secret mission for you."

"Secret mission?"

"Yeah, you’re basically James Bond with that accent. So, this should be a piece of cake for you."

I giggle, “Okay, what is it?”

"The entire time I’ve been here all I’ve had to eat is the shitty hospital food. My parents refuse to bring me food for reasons unknown and my only source of solace is that my friend Ray will occasionally sneak in Taco Bell for me, but I think he just does it for the jokes. There’s a few quarters and a cup on my bedside table. Go buy a cup full of candy." he explains quickly.

"Are you serious?" I raise an eyebrow in amusement, figures Michael would come up with some kind of elaborate plan like this.

"Of course I am!"

I roll my eyes, still snickering at his antics. “Okay, Willy Wonka. But if you get in trouble for eating gross hospital machine candy, don’t come crying to me.”

"Oh please, the doctors don’t give a shit. My eyes are the problem, not my stomach. And it’s crying out for sweets right now, so hop to it!"

"What do you want me to get?"

"I don’t fucking know. I haven’t actually  _seen_  the stupid candy machine, if you haven’t noticed. Just get anything.”

*

"Okay, we’re going to play a game!" I state as I re-enter the room, a small cup of colorful candies in my hands.

"You got the goods?"

I chuckle while sitting down across from him on the bed, he’s acting as though this is some kind of illegal drug deal. “Yes.”

"Perfect. What kind of game?"

"You have to guess what color candy you’re eating based on it’s taste. Then I’ll tell you if you’re right or wrong."

"That is the dumbest game ever," he smirks, but his amusement only encourages me.

"Stop you’re whining and eat," I grin.

He opens his mouth expectantly and I laugh once I realize that he wants me to actually feed it to him. “How the fuck else am I going to get it into my mouth without knowing what it is. The shape could give it away, dumbass!”

I don’t bother mentioning that all the candies are all shaped the same, this entire situation makes me want to giggle like a teenage girl. This was definitely one of my better ideas.

It feels weird having my hand so close to Michael’s face, and I try my hardest not to touch him at all when I feed him.

"Hmmm," he tilts his head to the side, tasting with great concentration, "Purple?"

"Yup!" I shout gleefully, picking another candy from the cup.

While playing this dumb game I would eat a few every so often as well. This continues on for a few moments. I laugh at his facial expressions when he tastes on that he doesn’t like, and when he’s really confused as to what one is.

"Oh gross, this one’s yellow." he mutters, his mouth pulled into a disgusted frown.

"You don’t like yellow?"

"Well it’s lemon flavored, I assume. So it’s kind of sour."

I make a noise to confirm his correct guess, “It was yellow. No idea how you can tell all these flavors.”

"What? How can you not tell?"

"I ‘unno," I shrug lazily, "They all sort of taste the same to me."

"That doesn’t even make sense. They’re  _flavored_  candies.”

"I have like four tastes that I can decipher."

"Oh really? What are your four tastes?" judging by his tone and smirk I know that he doesn’t believe it and is just humoring me.

"Uh, yucky… uh, yummy, alcoholic… spicy?" I name off, counting them off with my fingers as I do so, even though he can’t see.

He repeats them, trying to process the odd information, “What about salty?”

"Salt can either be under the yucky or the yummy depending on what food it is," I shrug, chuckling when he laughs at the absurdity of it, "Is that weird?"

"Yeah, that’s weird," he laughs out loud, "Like, you’re broken! You’re taste buds are broken!"

"I think my brain doesn’t process tastes."

"That’s not normal. There is something wrong with you. You could probably live in this hospital your entire life and never complain about the food."

"Well, I assume hospital food tastes yucky!"

"It fucking does! You’re lucky  _you_  aren’t stuck here because then even if I brought candy for you, you wouldn’t even appreciate it!”

"I appreciate candy! I just don’t really know which flavors are sour and sweet and all that other crap."

"I am determined to fix you and your messed up taste buds."

I was about to respond to him and playfully argue a little more but he goes quiet after saying that. Normally I wouldn’t think that was odd except he has the faintest hint of a blush on his cheeks.

"What?" I question, raising an eyebrow.

"Well, I’ve heard before that… kissing… can sometimes… ya’know, heighten flavors or something…" he shrugs, obviously nervous and shy now that he’s brought it up.

I have to admire his attempt though, at least he said all of the words properly with only a few hesitant pauses in between. If I was brave enough to say something like that I’d be stuttering the whole way through.

"Wow, subtle, Michael." I grin, knowing that my face is impossibly red.

"Shut up, asshole," he mutters, trying to keep the smile from his face, "Okay, fine… As if it wasn’t already obvious enough, I sort of kind of…  _like_  you a bit.”

His face turns an adorable shade of red as he speaks and it makes my heart swell with pride. He actually likes me. Michael could like anybody person in the world but he likes  _me_.

I remember that he can’t actually see my face and can’t go by my facial expressions, so I speak back just as hesitantly and shy as him, “I, uh… I kind of  _like_  you too.”

His smile is so relieved and proud that I laugh a little.

"Awesome!" he exclaims, but then turns redder once he realizes how loud that was, then attempts to play it off like he doesn’t care, "I mean… uh, that’s cool. Whatever."

He grins when I laugh and it makes me feel like we’re two teenagers discussing our mutual crush by our lockers. Those little giddy moments they talk about in movies and books, when the guy you like likes you back, doesn’t seem so cliche and cheesy when you’re actually experiencing it yourself.

It’s been a long time since I’ve been even remotely flirty with anybody. Even before the accident I wasn’t one to actually go up to a person I thought was attractive and chat with them. I’ve always just had a major fear of rejection so that always stopped me.

But Michael is here outright telling me that he likes me, and who knows how much time I’ll have left with him anyways. Why spend it being a shy coward?

"So, about that kiss thing… I wouldn’t exactly be  _opposed_  to it.” Even though I’m trying to be confident, I’m still quiet and nervous. I guess some things never change.

"Really?"

"Well, yeah. For the sake of fixing my taste buds." I try to be casual but I’m just as bad as Michael at this.

He snickers, and it helps me to realize that we’re both in the same boat. Just two dumb guys that like one another and are impossibly shy about admitting it.

"Okay," he nods. There’s a beat of silence between us until he finally says, "You’re gonna have to come to me. Because I have no fucking idea where your mouth is."

I chuckle, only realizing now how much I’m able to genuinely laugh around Michael. I move closer to him taking his hand and putting it on my shoulder so that he has at least some sense of where I am. Then I wordlessly take his cheeks in my hands before connecting our lips.

I had forgotten how nice kissing can be. Even though it’s just a simple and soft kiss, I still can’t help but get lost in it. I’m actually kissing Michael! Thank God my mouth was saved from being scarred or else I might have been missing out on this.

When we finally part, he’s smiling like an idiot and I’m sure I’m the same way. Luckily he can’t see that though because he’d probably call me an idiot.

"Taste buds work yet?"

"I don’t think so," I shrug, knowing he can tell because his hand is still holding my shoulder.

"Think we should try again?"

"Definitely."

We repeat the process a few times, simply allowing ourselves to be selfish by taking advantage of the others presence. We’re ridiculously childish by giggling into each others mouths and cracking stupid jokes when we finally stop.

"Who would have thought that playing your stupid candy game would have turned into this."

"Yeah… but I like it though. Kind of unconventional, but still pretty top."

He snickers, “I don’t know what that means, but sure. It’s pretty  _top_.”

*

When Geoff comes to pick me up I don’t even bother trying to hide my happiness.

He raises an eyebrow when I get into the car and snorts at the stupid smile on my face. I know I look like a complete idiot, but I just can’t help it. I’m so undeniably happy.

"What happened to you?" he questions, "Finally made a move on Loverboy?"

"I guess you could say that."

"You make out in the hospital’s janitor closet or something?"

"No. Shut up."

"Ah, so you just made out in his room then?" he questions knowingly with a grin, turning away from me to actually start driving out of the hospital parking lot.

"I said shut up."

Even as I say it there’s no annoyance behind it. Not even Geoff’s teasing could pull my attention from the pleasant feeling that Michael’s planted in my head.


	5. Chapter 5

The next time I go to visit Michael he makes up dumb excuses for us to be closer with one another.

"My hands are cold," he whines like a child, and reaches out his hands for mine.

"You’re so full of it," I tease but take them anyways. They’re warm.

"Hey, it worked on Sophie Cooper in the sixth grade. Figured it would probably work on you too."

He chuckles when I smack his shoulder. Figures that things wouldn’t be awkward or weird the day after we first kissed. When does Michael ever allow things to be weird or awkward?

"What else worked on Sophie Cooper?" I question, amused at the thought of a young Michael flirting with girls on a school playground.

"Saying that she had a smudge on her cheek that I had to kiss off."

"You were quite the charmer, Michael."

"You know it." he grins, "In fact, I’d probably say it to you right now if my lack of eyesight didn’t make it obvious that I was lying."

God, we’re such children. Our dumb smiles and constant flirting is enough to give anybody a cavitiy. It reminds me of the kind of interaction you’d see between characters in a cheesy tween novel. But sometimes it’s fun to revert back to being a kid. We’re both just childish assholes anyways, what’s the harm in being silly every once in a while?

"Well," I lean in and give him a quick but sweet peck on the lips, "Good thing you don’t have to trick me into kissing you."

"I am quite happy with what our friendship has become," he smiles, his face turning slightly red from the unexpected kiss.

"Me too," I comment lightly.

I’d have never thought that I’d be sitting here with Michael, holding hands and casually kissing him. Having new friendships or relationships never seemed to be something within my grasp after the accident. But it’s nice to be proven wrong.

"I’ve never kissed anybody without knowing what they look like beforehand," Michael snickers, pink still evident in his cheeks, "I’m taking a huge gamble here! You could be incredibly ugly."

He means it as a joke but it still sort of unburies that guilt that’s still deep inside of me.

I smile, already feeling my mood being dragged down at the reminder of my appearance, “Sorry to disappoint, but I am. Just absolutely revolting.”

He laughs, “Wouldn’t surprise me.”

I’m quiet as I think about it. It’s not very often that I acknowledge my appearance when here in Michael’s room. It’s always been such a breath of fresh air to never have to worry about it.

"Dude," Michael says uneasily after its been silent for too long, "I was just kidding."

I decide to be honest, and push the warning signals going off in my brain to the side, “It’s true though.”

"You’re totally putting yourself down. How could somebody with an accent that gorgeous be anything other than attractive?

I chuckle without amusement, “You’d be surprised, mate.”

"What do you look like then? Describe yourself."

I raise my eyebrows in alarm, not expecting him to request such a thing so simply. I suppose my appearance has always been such a minor thing in our friendship, but it must be quite irritating to Michael to have no idea what I look like.

"W-Why?"

"Because you know what I look like, it’s only fair that I know what you look like."

"Well, I- uh…" I stutter, not exactly sure how to go about this, "I have light brown hair?"

"Long or short?"

"Uh, fairly short, I suppose? When I was a teenager it was really long, like past my shoulders."

Michael snickers, “It’s not that long now?”

"No, just long enough for me to stick up with gel and crap."

"Lemme’ feel!" he demands, and reaches his hands upwards, making grabby motions as though he’s an impatient child.

I laugh with amused confusion, “You want to  _feel_ my hair?”

"Yeah, of course. I gotta know what I’m dealing with," he shrugs, and I can’t tell if he’s joking or not because his grin is so wide, "You can feel my hair if you want. I don’t give a shit."

I fake a sigh of annoyance, “Fine.”

He almost squeals in excitement as I take hold of his wrists, bend down my head, and guide his hands towards my hair. I try to keep them as far away from my face as possible without it seeming suspicious.

I’ve never had any problems with my hair before. I quite like my hair actually, it’s one of the only things about me that I actually like. Geoff often jokes about how it’s girly, but I don’t mind. It can never be nearly as bad as my face.

His fingers slowly feel their way through my hair, and I feel them slightly tugging as to get a sense of how long it is.

The feeling of his fingertips brushing against my scalp feels nice, and I’m happy that this is how the conversation turned out. With Michael’s fingers tangling their way through my hair, and hearing his quiet breathy laughs at the absurdity of this.

"What color are your eyes?"

"Green, with a bit of blue in ‘em, I suppose?" I shrug, moving my head away from his hands. He whines a little and frowns at the loss of contact, but seems content once I take his hands in mine again.

"Any freckles?"

"No, you’ve got enough freckles for the two of us."

He scowls, lets go of my hands, and reaches out to shove my shoulder. I always sit directly in front of him on his bed, my legs crossed and always in the same position, so it’s no surprise that he knows exactly where my shoulders are without having to hesitate.

It’s nice to be so connected to somebody that even when they can’t see, they know exactly where you are.

"So, you have eyes?" he questions.

I’m momentarily confused by the question but I answer anyways, “Yeah?”

"A nose?"

"Yes."

"I have physical proof that you do indeed have a mouth," he smiles, and I laugh.

"You are correct."

"So what about you could possibly be ‘ugly’ then?" he puts up air quotations around the word.

I sigh, “It’s hard to explain.”

He just smiles warmly, and blindly holds out his hand palm-up. I take it, allowing the comfort of his hands in mine to eliminate the insecurity creeping back into my brain.

"I have an mental image in my head of what you look like," he nods, satisfied.

"Oh yeah? What’s the verdict?"

"Definietly not ugly."

I scoff, “How could you possibly know that?”

He gives a small shrug before murmuring the words. "Because nobody really is."

Sometimes Michael is a lot more deep and thoughtful than he lets on.

But I can’t actually believe him as much as I want to. Not everybody is beautiful.

I used to think only a select few were. That the word beauty was reserved for fashion models, actors and actresses, and the occasional people blessed with good genetics. But then the accident happened, and I realize now that everybody in the world  _is_  beautiful. Everyone except for me. Gavin Free, always left with the short end of the stick.

Michael  _is_  beautiful though. With that curly red hair, and dimpled face. Even the freckles that are scattered around his cheeks are adorable. He somehow manages to still be attractive even when being cooped up in a hospital, wearing one of those ugly gowns with bandages wrapped around his face.

His eyes are still something I think about a lot. Usually that’s where I look when talking to somebody, but with Michael I have to look at the clean white bandages wrapped around and concealing them. I’m so used to being able to pick out emotions through people’s eyes, so sometimes it’s still difficult to communicate without that extra tell. But it was a very small road block throughout the course of our friendship.

Afterall, Michaels eyes were the entire reason we were able to become friends in the first place.

"What color are your eyes?" I question, realizing that Michael now has a faint idea of what I look like, but I still have no clue what his eyes look like.

"No, no, no!" he states strictly, "If I can’t see what you look like, you can’t know what color my eyes are."

"What? Why not?"

"Because I need some kind of secret to hold over your head." he explains as though that logic makes any sense, "You know almost everything about my appearance. I know  _almost_  nothing about yours. It’s not fair.”

He’s right. I have the advantage of knowing while he doesn’t. I know that he’s handsome and adorable, I’d be able to judge him based on his looks if I chose to do so. Michael doesn’t have that option. I’m not going to complain or argue against him because I’m still thankful for that.

"Okay, fine." I mutter, still a little upset about not knowing his eye color.

"Now when my eyesight is fully restored, you can see my eyes and I can see your face."

My acceptance drops immediately after those words leave his mouth. “Um… Maybe that’s not such a… good idea.”

It’s so much easier to be with Michael and have no fear of humiliation or rejection due to my looks. He likes me for me. It reminds me of that Disney movie  _Beauty and the Beast,_ but at least the beast wasn’t lying about his revolting apperance.

The girl always knew that he was a horrifying monster, but she didn’t care at the end. Michael doesn’t know, but he will in the end. It’s like a reversal Disney movie. Figures I wouldn’t get a happily ever after. I’m basically the villain in all of this.

"What? Why not? What the hell are you talking about?"

"I don’t know…" I murmur, "I just… really don’t want you to see my face."

"Gavin," his voice is strict with annoyance, "You seriously think that I care about what you look like?"

"You will."

"I’m pretty sure that I won’t. Do you seriously think I’m  _that_ shallow?”

"N-No!" my eyes widen, not wanting him to get the wrong idea, "It’s nothing about you! It’s me! I’m the problem."

"You aren’t a problem, Gav."

That sentence holds so much more than he knows.

For the past three years I’ve felt like nothing  _but_ a problem. I’ve been haunted by the thoughts that Geoff and Griffon feel obligated to be friends with me and let me live with them. Everything I do to fit in with others just succeeds in making me feel more like an outcast and social reject all because of my face. I just can’t help but feel like I’m an entire screw-up that can’t do anything right.

But Michael’s helped change that. I don’t feel like our friendship is wrong when I’m with him. It’s like I’m finally fitting in with somebody and it leaves me feeling astonished at the emotions it brings.

I squeeze his hand tighter, and he smiles at me reassuringly.

"Thank you, Michael."

The sweet and heart warming moment is abruptly ended when somebody loudly stomps into the room, yelling “ _Guess who finished GTA!?"_


	6. Chapter 6

"Ray?" Michael questions, turning his head so that he’s facing towards the door, "What the hell are you doing here."

I’m hardly able to process their conversation because I’m struck with panic. There is another person here, somebody Michael is close friends with, and he’s able to  _see_.

Luckily Ray can only see my profile from where he’s standing now, and only the undamaged side is visible. I’m mentally sending thanks to myself for not turning to look at the door when he burst in.

He can’t see the scar right now, but how long will it be until he does?! I turn my head even more away from him, just in case. As though prolonging this lie will make anything better.

"Uh, am I not allowed to visit my best friend in the hospital?" Ray questions, sarcastically.

"Oh please, as if you actually want to visit me, you piece of shit." As they banter I can hear the playfulness to it, and if I wasn’t in such a panic right now I’d be amused.

"You should be grateful for my presence. Who’s this?" He finally turns his attention towards me. I still have looked over at him yet because he’d get a complete look at my face that way, and we do not want that.

"This is my friend Gavin," he introduces us casually, "Gavin, this is my asshole of a friend Ray."

"Oh, so  _this_  is Gavin,” Ray’s voice sounds teasing and Michael groans at it, obviously knowing what’s to come, “Michael’s told me all about you over the phone while I was kicking ass in GTA. In fact, he never really stops talking about you. Going on and on about you for hours.”

"Shut the fuck up, Ray, I do not."

"You totally do. Like a horny teenage girl at a slumber party."

"That simile makes no sense." Michael states but his comment goes ignored.

"Why did you agree to be friends with him," Ray asks me, obviously joking, "Michael’s not so easy to get along with. Must be the hospital meds making him loopy"

"I’m not loopy, jerk-off."

It’s nice to see Michael interacting with somebody other than myself. He’s less flirty and more casual about it. It helps to show me our different our relationship is compared to the ones he has with his friends.

I tune them out. I don’t have time to be flustered over the thought of Michael actually talking to people about me. Thinking quickly, I grab one of the hospital room’s magazines from the table next to us and hold it in front of my face while getting up.

I probably look insanely ridiculous but I can’t bring myself to care right now. All I’m focused on is getting out of here without my ruse being destroyed.

"Dude… What the hell?" Ray asks, confused at my odd behavior. Michael must have felt me get off the bed because even he begins to ask questions.

"Gav, what’s wrong? Are you leaving?"

"I, uh, I gotta go!" Is all I manage to say while stepping closer to the door, "It was nice meeting you, Ray!"

"Uh, you too… I guess?" He sounds amused, and I wish I could put down the magazine to see if he smiling or not like Michael does when I do dumb things like this.

"Gavin?" Michael says, an attempt to keep me from leaving I assume, but I’m already to the door-frame at this point.

As I leave the room I hear Ray say to Michael, “Dude, he totally just stole one of your magazines.”

*

That was a close call.

Too close.

I spend the entire car ride home thinking of how badly that entire thing could have ended.

"What’s wrong with you? Out of breath from making out with your boyfriend?" Geoff mocks while we’re driving home from the hospital.

"He’s not my boyfriend, and no."

"Then what?"

"His friend decided to pop in for a visit."

"So?"

"His friend that can see."

Geoff nods, still looking forward at the road, “Well, what did you expect to happen? That he’ll never find out about your face and that nobody else is going to tell him?”

"It’s been working so far."

"So he didn’t get to see you?"

"No." I murmur, slightly embarrassed by it now, "I ran out while holding a magazine in front of my face."

"Are you serious!?" he laughs out loud, "Oh my gosh, what did you do with it?"

"I threw it in the trash as soon as I got outside. But that’s not the issue here!" I groan, knowing that he’s going to laugh about this for the next few weeks.

"I just love the thought of you running out of the room like that while his friend was confused as fuck. He must have thought you were a lunatic."

"Don’t remind me," I mutter, burying my face in my hands.

"In all honesty, you know the truth is going to come out eventually. Would you rather it be from his friend, or from you?"

I sigh. He’s right, no matter how much I wish it wouldn’t happen, Michael is going to find out about my appearance. If Ray told him, he’d feel even more betrayed than he would if I did. At least if I told him there would be no shocked and confused tone to it. No questions like ‘ _What the hell is wrong with that guy’s face_?!’ or ‘ _Do you not realize that you’re crushing on Quasimodo from The Hunchback of Notre-Dame_!?’

"From me, I suppose."

"Then you’re gonna have to do it soon."

"I will." I confirm, already feeling sick to my stomach at the thought, "…Eventually."

Turns out eventually was a lot sooner than I thought.

*

I stayed away from the hospital for a few days. Just in case Ray was visiting him a lot in order to make up for his disappearance during the GTA release.

But I know I can’t avoid his questions forever, and as soon as I enter his hospital room, I can hear the confused concern in his voice.

"Gavin? Is that you?"

"Uh, yeah," I nod, coming over to sit down on the bed like every other day that I come here.

"What happened the other day, you just bolted as soon as Ray came in." he seems so concerned and it makes me feel impossibly guilty, "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I, uh, I’m fine. Just had to leave quick. Bit of an emergency."

"You… want to talk about it, or…?"

"No, no," I say quickly, pulling an excuse out of nowhere, "It’s fine. Nothing wrong just got in a bit of trouble with Geoff. He was waiting outside for me in the car and texted me a few moments before Ray came in."

"Oh, okay," he accepts the lie, and I want to just melt into a puddle of regret at lying to him once again.

"So, did you and Ray gossip about me while I was gone?" I joke, trying to lighten the mood and push all of those concerns to the back of my head.

He laughs, and I’m thankful the subject change worked, “Nah, but that’s probably a good thing. Ray can be a piece of shit at times, and who knows what kind of stuff he’d say. You’ll get used to that though if we all hang out together one day.”

I allow myself to be immersed in the thought of actually being friends with Michael’s friends. Having them like me and treat me like a normal person like he does. It’s not actually possible, but it’s still nice to think about.

"Do you think they’d like me?"

"Who?"

"Your friends."

"Yeah, sure. Who  _wouldn’t_  like you, dude? Sure you’re a piece of shit and I hate you, but you’ve got that sexy awesome British voice,” he teases.

"Shut up," I try not to sound bashful but I’m sure he catches it anyways.

"Ray  _did_  tell me something about you though.”

I can only imagine what thoughts he’d have on the weird guy that ran out of the hospital room with a magazine covering his face. “What?”

"He said you had crazy boy-band hair, and then went on to compare you to a member of One Direction," he snickers.

I let out a laugh, “Geoff does that a lot too.”

"I can’t wait to see it for myself," he smiles, but there’s something within that tells me that there’s more to this than I thought, "Just feeling it isn’t the same. I want to actually  _see_ how ridiculous you look.”

I chuckle, “Maybe one day.”

"Tell me a story?" Michael asks, leaning back so that he can be more comfortable.

He does this a lot, just begging for random stories about anything. It could be something about my childhood, an episode of a television show, something silly Geoff and I have done, a standard fairy-tale, or something I’ve completely made up on my own. It’s fun because he’s so willing to listen to any kind of crazy thing that I tell him.

"Did I ever tell you about the time that  _I_  lost my vision?”

"No, I believe I would have remembered hearing that one."

"A long time ago, back when I still lived in England, I fell down on the pavement. I just went from stood up to on the back of my head. My vision just blurred into one big color. And apparently I sat down in a puddle and was just looking around. And basically I was just blind for three days. Because all of the vision is in the back of the brain, so I just bruised it."

"Jesus Christ. That’s fucked up." Michael comments, not wanting to interrupt the story other than to show his sympathy.

"And I remember being in bed thinking  _I’m gonna throw up so bad_ because I was concussed. I remember crawling on my hands and knees to throw up in the toilet. Then I crawled back. And my dad came in and was like,  _You just threw up on the top of the toilet_.”

Michael bursts out laughing. I giggle along with him, the story’s absurdity not making it difficult.

"Did he make you clean it up?"

"Luckily, no." I snicker. It’s funny when I look back on it now, but when it was happening there was nothing humorous about it. It was so scary and unfamiliar.

"When my vision returned a few days later, I was pretty relieved." I say, "It was only for a short amount of time though, so I can’t even imagine how you must feel."

He shakes with unexplained excitement for a moment and I’m about to question it but he begins talking in quick rushed breaths.

"Okay… I can’t hide it anymore!" he grins while taking a deep breath, "I have _huge_  news to tell you!”

He sits up straight, as though the information is too exciting for him to try and act casual over. Seeing him so enthused like this makes me grin.

"What is it?"

"Earlier this morning when my parents were here, the doctors came in and guess what they said."

I think for a few moments, and consider making a dumb joke but decide against it, “I don’t bloody know, Michael! Just tell me!”

He laughs, “Alright, alright! No need to get your British trousers in a twist!”

I laugh along with him and playfully shove his shoulder.

"I’m going into surgery in a few days, and there’s an amazingly high chance that I’m going to be able to see again  _very_ soon!”

The world almost stops moving when he says that, and the grin slips off of my face entirely. He’s completely oblivious to it and is practically bouncing with excitement.

"You’re… You’re getting new eyes?"

"Well not  _new_  eyes. They’re still my same eyes, but they’re just getting fixed, I guess? I don’t know, I heard ‘ _able to see again_ ' and was too excited to hear anything else.”

"So you’re… You’re going to be able to _see_?”

"Yeah! Isn’t that awesome, Gav?! I’m finally going to get to see you’re dumb British face!"

Everything comes to a quick and harsh halt as soon as I process his words.

Even though I knew it was going to happen eventually, it still makes my stomach twist in painful ways and I almost want to cry out. It’s incredibly selfish of me, but I wish he wasn’t grinning right now. I wish he wasn’t getting his eyesight back. I wish we could have stayed like this forever, where we’re both happy and Michael is oblivious.

Of course the world can never be that nice to me. I should be used to life completely destroying any sunshine and happiness I’ve managed to grasp. I should consider myself lucky that I’ve gotten to experience this much of it.

To actually get close to another person again and just simply talk about anything we can think of. To be called a loser or freak playfully because of my personality instead of disdainfully for my looks. To kiss somebody and slowly fall in love with them in such a short span of time.

Michael made it easy to forget about this facade. And I love him. It’s so insane to think about it but I actually love him. Everything about him.

And I think it’s because I see the opposite of myself in him. He’s cute, and funny. He doesn’t care to be shy or nervous around people because he’s scared of their opinions. He is everything I wish I could be, and he deserves much better than somebody like me.

All good things must come to an end, but I can’t bear to think of Michael not knowing the truth in some way. I don’t want him to sit here wondering why I left him and why he’ll never actually see me. I already know that I’m a selfish asshole, but I don’t want to continue lying to him anymore. He deserves to at least  _know_  the truth if he can’t see it. I just wish I would have realized this sooner, before I got attached and fell head over heels like some cliched high school cheerleader.

"Gavin?" He questions, still smiling excitedly and his tone playful, "You still there, dude?"

"Yeah…" I murmur, already fearing how this conversation will play out, "That’s, uh… That’s great, Michael."

Michael notices the lack of happiness in my voice and immediately becomes concerned. His attention does a complete 180 from his excitement over his surgery to my quietness. “Are you okay?”

That’s another thing I’ll miss. Actually having somebody care about me. He doesn’t feel any obligation to be worried about me out of pity. He honestly and genuinely cares. And it’s not fair that I have to give that up.

"I haven’t been completely honest with you, Michael."

The only reason I don’t speak any louder than a whisper is both because I know he can still hear me and I don’t think I’m physically able to at the moment.

"What do you mean?" He asks, and his hand easily finds my own. I revel in the feeling of having his fingers interlocked with mine, because I know it won’t last long.

 _Just do it fast and get it over with_.

"A few years ago…" I start, pushing through the final hesitation, "I was in a car accident like you. There were a few cars involved, but luckily nobody was killed. I can’t even remember much about the accident itself or how long I was in the hospital for.

"The only person that was left with any lasting effects was me. While the others had to deal with a damaged car… I had to deal with a damaged face."

He’s quiet for a few moments, and I’m grateful that he’s sensed the seriousness of the upcoming conversation. Although I wish more than anything we could still just be sitting on his hospital bed making dumb jokes and playing stupid candy games. I try to distract myself from looking at his face by studying the tattoo’s covering his arms.

"What do you mean  _damaged_?” He doesn’t put much emphasis on the word, but I know it confuses him slightly. It is a rather odd word to use when describing a persons appearance after all.

"It’s ruined. The entire upper right hand side of my face is permanently scarred and ruined."

Michael mouth is pulled into a tight line, but more out of concentration than anything else, “Like… burned?”

I sigh a little, and look away from him as though I don’t want to meet his eyes. As though that makes any sense at all. “Yeah,” I whisper.

There’s a beat of silence, and I can see that’s he processing it.

"Why didn’t you just tell me?"

"I don’t know." I answer honestly, keeping my head held high to stop myself from crying, "I’m sorry."

"Well, you don’t need to be sorry. You technically didn’t  _lie_ -“

"No," I close my eyes, hardly even able to talk, "Don’t make excuses for me. I’m an asshole and a jerk."

I never would have thought I’d get so emotional over something like this. But here I am, rubbing my eyes with the sleeves of my jacket in an attempt to stop the tears from falling. God, I’m so pathetic.

It’s amazing how close you get to somebody in the span of a month.

"I wish I could see you," he murmurs, tenderly rubbing his thumb across the back of my hand. It’s meant to comfort me, and although it feels nice, it doesn’t work.

"I’m glad you can’t."

The air between us is silent for a long time, and I keep wishing that I just kept my mouth shut. It would have been easier on me if I just continued on lying and then left forever without an explanation. But I couldn’t do that to Michael. He doesn’t deserve that.

"I don’t think I should come back anymore, Michael." I don’t mean for it to sound like  _I’m_  rejecting  _him_ , but I’m still so unsure how to enter this conversation.

"What?!" He exclaims, both shock and disbelief gracing his tone, "What the hell does that mean?!"

"After today I’m not going to come back to see you and I would really appreciate it if you didn’t try to find me afterwards."

I can’t let him see me when his eyes are better. It’s better for him to have that visual he conjured up in his head of what I look like. The  _normal_  Gavin Free that is attractive and everything that Michael Jones is looking for in a person.

I can’t bring myself to speak any louder than a whisper because I know if I do I’ll let out a weak sob. Tears are already threatening to spill down my cheeks. I get off of the bed but his grip on my hand tightens to keep me from walking away.

"Wait, Gavin!" Michael demands, "Fucking stop, man."

"Michael," I plead, desperation evident my voice, "Please just let me leave."

"But I don’t  _want_  you to go!”

I know I can’t believe him. He’s saying that now but once the bandages come off and his vision is back to normal, he’ll be quick to reject and be disgusted by me. I don’t think I’d be able to handle that. It’s easier to do this now.

I just have to leave. I have to get out of here before I’m foolish enough to actually obey Michael’s words and stay. I’d give anything to be able to stay here with him. To celebrate the return of his vision of selfishly turning into a final goodbye. He’s lucky to be getting rid of me.

If I don’t leave now I’m going to be walking down the hallway in tears, sobbing like the childish brat that I am. I already get enough pitying looks as it is, I don’t need to give people more reasons to stare.

"Gavin," He states, his voice both pleading and strict, "Just stay and we’ll talk about it or something. Don’t just leave and never come back. That’s not fair!"

I pull my hand from his grasp and close my eyes, mustering up all of the courage I can to walk away even though I know that I  _really_  don’t want to.

"I learned a long time ago that nothing ever is."

I leave the room before he can say anything else, but I can still hear him angrily yelling my name from the hallway. “Get your stupid British ass back here, you piece of shit!” he yells. A few nurses rush past me to get to his room, thinking he’s in physical pain from all the screaming he’s doing.

His hostility is so familiar that it makes me smile, even though both my stomach and head are filled to the brim with regret and disgust towards myself. It happened so fast, but maybe that’s a good thing. Like ripping off a band-aid.

Although it hurts, it was the right thing to do.

But that’s just what life is like now. I’m the one who has to make sacrifices for the sake of others and I’m the one who has to get hurt because of it. You think I would be used to it by now.

I sit on the curb once I walk through the hospital’s main doors. Ignoring the people that look over at me in confusion when I bury my face into my arms and finally lets the tears fall.

I allow myself to sit there for a few moments, just wallowing in all of the emotions buzzing through my head before calling Geoff to come get me.


	7. Chapter 7

A few weeks pass, and I spend my days cooped up in the darkness of my room.

Self loathing and pity seem to be the only emotions I can process for the longest time. Every once in a while Geoff or Griffon will come in to see if I’m okay, but they eventually give up once they see how hopeless it is.

Hanging out with the two does help a little, even though I don’t tell them that. It pulls me out of that state and lets me forget about things for a few hours. But the feeling of guilt and remorse is still buried deep in the back of my head, and I know it may be a long time until that permanently goes away.

It’s like meeting Michael has turned everything upside down because it gave me a reminder of how nice life was before the accident. Being dragged back down into reality is a lot more harsh than I expected it to be.

I just want to lay in my blankets for the rest of my life and never get up again.

At least it’s safe in here. Nobody to stare at me like I’m from the circus or give me pitying looks. No Michael with his fixed vision to finally see what I look like and be disappointed by it.

The only downside is the loneliness. But I’d rather this solitude than to allow myself to be hurt again. It still hurts, and I spent many sleepless nights just staring up at the ceiling, calling myself an idiot time and time again.

Sometimes Geoff will come in and force me to play Halo with him, but I know it’s just because he’s worried about me. Griffon will often bring me in food and speak a few comforting words, and it does help sometimes. But it isn’t very long until the sadness engulfs me again.

I just feel like shit.

I haven’t felt this terrible in my entire life. Not even after the accident, and that’s saying something.

"Okay, I’m sick of you being a sad little shit," Geoff states, walking into my room and turning on the light.

I flinch because my eyes are too used to the dark at this point. I resist the urge to hiss like a vampire because I figure that will annoy him even more. I know I’m being a whiny little brat by staying in my room all day, but I just feel so emotionally drained.

"Get the fuck up, you piece of shit. Somebody is here to see you." he pulls the blankets off of me, "It’s time for you to stop being a baby just because things didn’t work out with your little boyfriend."

  
"Shut up, Geoff," I groan and turn away from him to bury my face into the pillow. I just want to sleep for the rest of my life and never see the light of day again.

 

"Nope!" he states, grabbing my leg to pull me off of the bed. I retaliate by trying to grab onto the edge of the mattress but he’s a lot stronger than me and I end up face first on the floor.

"Geoff!"

He ignores my protests, “I’m not letting you do this to yourself again. It was like you were finally recovering from the accident and now you’re right back to square one, and I refuse to let it happen. Besides, as I’ve said before, you have a visitor,  _your majesty_. So get the fuck up.”

I raise an eyebrow suspiciously, figuring that this is some kind of elaborate ruse just to get me out of the house. Who would really come to visit me, especially when it’s 11:30 at night?

“Who?”

He scoffs and rolls his eyes lazily, “Get off your lazy ass and go find out.”

I hate when he takes this pseudo father role type thing too seriously. Why can’t he just be my asshole friend that doesn’t give two shits if I mope the rest of my life away?

I’m about to tell him to sod off again, but he continues to drag me by my foot across the floor.

"I hate you sometimes," I mutter, pulling myself up so that I’m standing in front of him.

"Love ya too, buddy," he smirks and then ruffles my hair with mock affection.

*

It’s practically midnight, but the lights are on outside and I can see the silhouette of a person standing at the front door.

I’d recognize that curly hair anywhere. It’s  _Michael_  that’s come to see me.

It’s only when I put two and two together that I quickly turn around. Geoff grabs me by the elbow effortlessly and stops me from bolting back to the security of my own room.

“Geoff, please, don’t make me go out there,” I plead with him, trying to keep my voice quiet in case he can hear through the door.

“Just talk to him, okay?”

“I don’t want to.” I mutter, “How did he even know where we live?”

“He called me yesterday, asked if he could come see you. Of course I said yes. I’m really getting worried about you, Gav.”

I internally curse phone books and the fact that I’ve told Michael Geoff’s full name before.

“You don’t need to be.” I realize at this point that the whole situation is hopeless, any amount of begging won’t get me out of this confrontation. I easily turn to being bitter about it.

“Ever since the accident you’ve been acting like this.” he states, and I can see the concern in his eyes, “But then you met Michael and it was like you were finally Gavin again.”

“I’ve always  _been_  Gavin.”

He glares at me, “You know what I mean. I want that Gavin back. Not the one that sits in his room wallowing in self pity all day. Now go out there and talk to that kid before I kick your ass.”

I look towards the door in defeat. “He’s going to hate me.”

“You don’t know that.” his voice is softer now, more understanding but still persistent. “But there’s only one way to find out.”

I sigh, already imaging in my head how horribly this will end.

Maybe I was more stupid than I originally thought. Yeah, meeting Michael and being normal for a while was nice. It was better than nice. It was amazing. But I was a fool to let it continue on this long. Now Michael has his vision back, he knows that I’m broken and he’s literally standing right outside that door.

This would have been a lot better if I never went back to his hospital room after that first day we met. Yeah, I wouldn’t have gotten to meet him, but at least I wouldn’t have to deal with this now.

I could have left Michael and let him believe that I was this normal person. But now he’s going to see just like everybody else. He’s going to reject me and be disgusted just like everybody else.

I deserve it.

But I still don’t know if I regret it.

All of those moments with Michael were so different. I felt like for the first time since the accident that I was just a normal lad. That there was nothing wrong with me, and I could easily just pretend to be like everybody else.

I should have seen this coming. The inevitable end where Michael finally sees my face and shuns me forever.

But it isn’t fair. I shouldn’t have to lose the first person I’ve actually had real feelings for just because of these scars that control my life.

I don’t blame Michael for it, I blame myself.

I take a deep breath as I walk out the door and see him.

No more bandages wrapped around his eyes, no more hospital gown, just him. Standing there before me with his hands dug in his jeans pockets nervously.

As soon as he looks up to see me, his eyes widen slightly.

The light from the porch only gives off a dim glow, but it’s enough to see that his eyes are brown.

A dark brown that are eagerly studying me. I can make out the  _faintest_  hint of small white scars that are littered around his eyes, but it doesn’t impair his appearance in any way. If anything it draws attention to those amazing eyes that I’ve been so desperate to see.

To finally see his eyes was like seeing through a whole new window into his emotions. I hadn’t realized how good I’d been at drawing them out back at the hospital, but now that his eyes are visible and fixed, it’s so much easier to understand him. I can see the awe and astonishment in them. But I have no idea if that’s good or bad.

They trail up and down my body at first, and it’s almost like he’s confirming the fact that I’m right in front of him. It’s only when he stops to stare at my face that I hold my breath.

In cliched romance novels they always compare brown eyes to chocolate or coffee, but Michael’s were more than that. They were deep, rich, and expressive. They revealed every emotion he was thinking and any thought that was running through his head. All I can do is stare at them as he studies my face in the exact same way. I don’t even find the time to be nervous or scared because I’m just stuck in a trance. We both are.

Standing there in silence, immersed in finally seeing what was hidden away from the other for so long.

There’s no disgust evident in his eyes though, just an unreadable emotion that I’m sure I’ll discover once he begins talking.

"Hi," I say quietly, offering a tiny wave. It feels weird to finally see somebody that you’ve been purposely avoiding for weeks.

"It’s… It’s you," he states outright, his eyes still wide with almost amazement.

"Yeah," I mumble under my breath, looking down at my feet to avoid his gaze, "It’s me."

I just want to get this over with as quickly as possible like last time. Like ripping off a band-aid again. It might hurt less that way.

"I didn’t think I’d ever get to see you."

"Well, you did. Good idea coming at night. Now you can’t really get a good look at the monstrosity that is my face." He can actually see my face in all of it’s deformed glory thanks to the outdoor lights, but it’s easier to ignore that and just be bitter and rude about this.

Michael glares at my attitude, “Gavin, the reason I came here so late is because I spent the entire day trying to work up the courage to come see you.”

"You’re brave. Most people would gasp and run the other direction."

"Stop it, asshole."

Hearing him call me that makes my heart flutter at the familiarity, and I want to stomp on it for continuing to fall for this guy after it’s obvious what’s going to come next.

He steps towards me, bringing his face closer so that he can study that scar that will forever remain a part of me. I feel compelled to turn away or cover it up with my hands, but it’s pointless now. He already knows, and there’s nothing to stop this from happening.

But he doesn’t comment on it, and just continues talking.

"I didn’t mean it like that and you know it. You were just so pissed off last time, and I was worried you never wanted to see me again."

"Of course I want to see you. It’s  _you_  that I don’t want seeing  _me_.”

"What the hell does that even mean?"

"It means that I didn’t want to shatter this illusion you had that I’m a normal person. I didn’t want you to see what I really looked like because then you’d never want to talk to me again."

"Are you fucking kidding me?" he asks, disbelief dancing in his eyes, "You thought I’d never want to talk to you again if I saw your face!?"

"Yes!" I say a little too loudly, "Because now you know the truth! I lied to you and pretended to be something I’m not. Just yell at me for being a selfish prick and get it over with, because I know that’s what you really want to do."

"Gavin, I’m not mad at you." his voice is calmer now, and his eyes are wide again with confusion, "I don’t think you’re a selfish prick."

I raise an eyebrow hesitantly, not sure how to continue with this conversation. It isn’t at all going how I imagined. I figured I’d be alone in my room by now, laying in my bed and staring up at the ceiling. Hating myself even more than I already do. “You don’t?”

"No, of course not. I kind of understand why you did it." his voice is quiet and hesitant as he speaks, but not because he’s worried to say the wrong thing. He isn’t walking on eggshells like others do when they talk to me, he isn’t scared to accidentally offend me by talking about it.

"Really?"

"Yeah." he shrugs, "People probably stare a lot, or ask what happened, or feel bad for you. It must make you feel like shit."

I wasn’t expecting him to say anything along the lines of this. But he’s right. All of those things just make me feel worse about it. It makes me feel like it’s my fault that this has happened.

I don’t respond, and just look away to avoid his eyes. They’re still boring into mine, as though he’s attempting to read my mind.

"But I am kind of pissed that you didn’t tell me." he murmurs.

"I’m sorry," my voice cracks, "I didn’t mean for it to go so far. I should have never come back to that hospital room after we first met."

"What do you mean?" Michael asks, his eyebrows furrow in disbelief and anger, "I’m fucking happy you kept coming back."

Maybe it’s just his refusal to get this done and over with, or maybe all of this pent up frustration is finally making itself known, but I just can’t stay calm anymore.

“ _Why_!?” I try to keep quiet but my voice is still on the verge of yelling, “Why do you keep doing this? Why do you keep dragging this process out!?”

His eyes are wide with confusion at my outburst, “What process?”

"The process where you call me a disgusting freak and say that you never want to see me again! It’s already gonna be hard enough after everything that’s happened, so why can’t you just get it over with?"

Michael glares at me, “Why do you assume that you’re the only one that got attached? You think that I harbored zero feelings for you after all of this? You think I would want to completely disregard our friendship now just because I can see again!?”

"You don’t understand." I mutter, the early signs of a headache forming in my brain.

"What then? Fucking explain it to me, Gavin."

If we don’t stop yelling, Geoff’s going to come out here and get mad at us. It may also end with Michael having to leave, and I’m still not sure if I actually want him to or not. “It doesn’t matter!”

"Just say it!"

At this point we’re screaming at one another, and I feel like I’m about to start crying or something. But watching him get so worked up over me is just too much to take. And I snap.

“ _I love you_ , okay!? Are you happy now?” but once I start, I can’t stop, “I’m the ugly disgusting deformed freak that’s in love with you. Should I go yell it from the rooftops? Scream it out as people cover their eyes or gasp at the sight of my repulsive face?” I stop screaming once time catches up to me, and I realize that I don’t want to yell at Michael. He’s not the one at fault here. I am. “I’m sorry, okay? I know that when you got your eyesight back you were expecting to see an attractive or at least normal person rather than the train-wreck you received. I’m sorry I stuck around so long and got attached and I’m sorry that I let myself get close to somebody when I  _knew_ that it would end like this.”

The air goes silent as I finish, the only noise being my heavy breathing as I try to catch my breath after that. Michael continues to stare at me, processing my words.

"I love you too."

That completely throws me off.

“ _What_?”

"Do you seriously think I’m such a shallow asshole that I’d give two shits about your face being…" he trails off, reasonably being unable to find a neutral adjective to describe it.

"Disgusting." I state, "It’s disgusting, Michael. It’s hideous, ugly, and I’m a downright freak.  _You_ , on the other hand, are the complete opposite of those things. You’ve gotten yourself a brand new set of eyes and you shouldn’t be wasting them looking at my wreck of a face. So I understand completely if you-” he cuts me off by grabbing me roughly by the front of my shirt and crashing his lips to mine.

All thoughts leave my brain and I can only process the fact that he’s kissing me.

It’s different than the one at the hospital. I’m able to feel my self-hatred melt away and be replaced by his reassurance. That’s the best thing about Michael, although he talks a lot, he doesn’t need words to convey what’s he’s trying to get across.

His lips aren’t as soft against mine this time, they’re desperate and eager to prove something I’m unaware of. He pulls me closer than I thought I’d ever get with another person ever again, and any words I was going to use to tell him he could leave me alone forever completely melt away in my head.

It’s like everything I’ve been feeling for the past few months has exploded into my brain all at once, and when he pulls away I selfishly want to pull him back. But we’re both slightly out of breath, and I know he has words to say.

"I don’t think you’re disgusting." he states, letting his hands drop from clutching my shirt and fall to his sides again, "I think you’re still the funny and adorable British guy I met a few months ago while I was blind in a hospital room. Finally getting to see you face to face doesn’t change that. So  _fuck you_  if you think I’m gonna leave now.”

I’m slightly dazed from the kiss, like I’m drunk off of happiness or something, but I’ve still got some common sense to continue arguing.

"You don’t have to feel sorry for me. I know I’m a freak. I don’t need you to pity me or let me down gently."

"But it’s true, Gavin! All that time we talked in that hospital room, I fell in love with  _you_. I didn’t give two shits about your appearance then and I still don’t now. But do you know what I would say if I  _did_  care about superficial bullshit like that?”

"That I belong in a circus?"

He continues on, ignoring my comment. “That you’re goddamn beautiful.”

It’s silent for a few moments and I swallow harshly, “Are you really seeing the same face I see when I look in a mirror?”

He shrugs, “I hope so. Otherwise you’re missing out.”

Beautiful? Me? I didn’t think it was possible for such a word to describe me anymore. It sends happy feelings up my spine and spreads to my limbs. Tingling sparks of happiness shoot around my body like fireworks when I realize that he’s actually talking about  _me_. Michael is using the word beautiful to describe  _me_.

As all of this runs through my head he continues speaking.

"You’re a beautiful person inside  _and_  out. Sure, you’re an annoying little asshole,” he smirks, “but you’re amazing. When you told me that you’re face was scarred permanently, I didn’t fucking care. I was a little surprised of course but that’s it. All I cared about was finally getting to see you. I still don’t give two shits about your appearance. You’re still Gavin. Who cares if part of your face is scarred. It’s not even that fucking bad. I expected you to look like Two-Face from Batman or something.”

He smiles at his last sentence, letting me know that he’s just joking, but I can’t even focus on his attempt to lighten the heavy conversation.

His words continue to run through my mind even as he finishes speaking them. Leaving trails of fire that somehow destroy all of my negative thoughts toward my own appearance.

He doesn’t pretend that the scars don’t exist. He doesn’t avoid the subject and act as though I look like everybody else. Instead he embraces it and thinks that they don’t define me. He doesn’t think of me as the boy with the ruined face, he thinks of me as Gavin Free.

That feeling is more amazing than the feeling of hiding away and pretending to be something I’m not.

I actually  _feel_ normal. No lies or tricks are being used to assist in that, just Michael’s reassuring words. I don’t want to hide my face from him anymore.

He loves  _me_ , and I have no idea how long it will take for that to fully sink in.

"Come on," he smiles softly while walking down the steps, "Let’s go for a walk."

"But it’s midnight." I point out, even though I run the short distance to walk by his side.

He shrugs and smirks at me, “Who cares?”

The way he looks at me causes me to blush, so I advert my gaze to the road in front of us. He obviously still sees it though because he chuckles to himself.

It’s a beautiful night out, the dark sky is filled with stars, and there isn’t any wind to make the air too cold. There’s no noise besides the sound of our feet walking along the pavement, and it’s hard to imagine that a few minutes ago we were disrupting that silence by screaming at one another.

"How’s it like to finally see again?" I ask, wanting to fill the quiet with the sound of his voice.

"Pretty much the same as before."

"I thought you were super excited about it," I smile, thinking back to his enthused voice and grin when he first told me.

"Because I wanted to see you."

I’ve never meant that much to anybody before. Eyesight is an important thing. When Michael learned he was getting his back, he wasn’t excited because he could see in general. He was excited because he’d finally get to see the person he’s been talking to for the past month.

"You aren’t disappointed after finally seeing my dumb British face?" I question.

He intertwines his fingers in mine, smiling at my use of his own words. A blush warms my cheeks and I want to look away, but the sincerity in his eyes stop me.

He doesn’t stare at me like I’m a freak. He doesn’t look away because he’s scared he’s looked too long. There’s no trace of pity in his eyes as though he feels sorry for me.

When he stares at me, I can see the relief. The relief that he’s finally able to see again, and that he’s able to see  _me_. He doesn’t consider what he received to be a disappointment. It’s like he thinks of it as a gift. His eyesight allows him to actually see me, and to him that’s the greatest thing in the world.

"Not in the slightest."


End file.
